


frankenstein's monster was a man

by batofgoodintent (crownedcrusader)



Category: DCU (Comics), Superboy (Comics)
Genre: Frankenstein AU, M/M, Physical Disability, TTK as prosthetic, i CANNOT emphasize that tag enough. BODY HORROR AHEAD., paraplegic, tw: body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24147154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcrusader/pseuds/batofgoodintent
Summary: Kon is taken captive by Lex Luthor. There are things done to him no ordinary man would have survived. And yet, here he is. Alive. But it's going to take more than sewn-on parts for him to feel whole again.TW: Body horror.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25
Collections: TimKon Week





	frankenstein's monster was a man

**Author's Note:**

> CANNOT stress this enough. 
> 
> There IS body horror. But it's not meant to be gratuitous torture scenes; the introduction is VERY brief and only meant to set up the later part of the story. This is an attempt at blending comic book logic and real science, as well as taking disabilities seriously instead of skimming over them the way DC normally does. 
> 
> I'm quite proud of this fic, but if you're squeamish, please take care of yourself and click out if you feel unable to read.

Kon opened his eyes to an unfamiliar laboratory. 

No big deal. He’d woken up in unfamiliar laboratories before. At least he wasn’t in goo this time. The real issue was that there didn’t seem to be anyone around. 

The last thing he remembered, he was in his boyfriend’s bed, sleeping peacefully. But that couldn’t be right, because there was no way someone was able to sneak into Tim Drake’s hideout. Let alone sneak away with _Superboy_.

Kon frowned. Then he made a move to sit up, only to find himself restricted. No big deal. He was good at getting rid of restraints. 

He flexed a little more; used a little more strength than he normally would. But his powers seemed to be negated somehow. 

It was only then that Kon started to get nervous. 

He tried to use his TTK, too--but when he tried to stretch it and bend it, nothing happened. And when Kon felt closely, he realized that there was no forcefield around him at all. He couldn’t bend his TTK if there was nothing there to bend. 

A pit formed in his stomach. 

His heart started to beat faster. 

This place didn’t feel like CADMUS. Not like the CADMUS where he was first created, and not like the CADMUS he’d worked for when he still lived in Hawaii, with Rex and Roxy and Dubbilex. 

And it didn’t feel like Tim’s lab, or the Batcave, or the Fortress of Solitude, where he occasionally went to get checked out when he was feeling off or under the weather.

This didn’t feel like any of those. But it did feel familiar, somehow. 

If anything, it looked like--

“Luthor.” 

The man in question emerged from the doorway. He must have been waiting for Kon to figure it out. Kon wondered how long he’d been waiting--how long he was going to give Kon to figure it out before giving it away. 

“You took your time waking up,” Lex said. He took a few steps closer, footsteps echoing ominously through the laboratory. “But at least it gave me plenty of time to get ready. I even had time to temporarily disable your tactile telekinesis.” 

Kon swallowed--or at least, tried to. His mouth had already gone dry from fear. Had Lex always had the ability to shut off his TTK? “Why did you bring me here?”

“You remember the Teen Titans’ latest break-in. The one where you stole a crucial piece of equipment from me, and it disappeared inside you?” Lex smiled coldly. He approached, step by step, until he was only a few feet away from a control panel. Not close enough to be physically imposing. But Kon knew better. Whatever was on that control panel was going to mean him a world of pain. “I believe you called me a… What was it? ‘Bald-headed snake with a god complex’?” 

Kon kept his mouth stubbornly shut. 

“No reply? Personally, I thought it was one of your better quips. Ah, well. No matter.” Lex pushed a button on his control panel--not even taking the time to gloat and tell him what the button did. Instead, he met Kon’s eyes and smirked. “God-complex, you called it. Maybe you ought to start praying, just in case.” 

Then, Lex Luthor hit the button at the center of the control panel, and Kon’s whole world went green. 

\--

The pain was off and on for the next few days. Mostly on.

But sometimes he would black out, and when he came to, new portions of his body ached. Or worse, sometimes he felt nothing at all. The nothingness was worse, because in those moments, Kon had no idea what was being done to him. 

Especially after Lex had put up a curtain, blocking Kon’s view of anything below his neck. 

He would rather feel the pain than the terror of not knowing what was happening to him. Not knowing whether those sharp sensations were real or phantom--not knowing whether the burning agony on his limbs was because of fire, or acid, or from his own imagined, uncertain anguish. 

He’d become delirious not long after the torture began. 

Kon had died before, once. He had felt himself slip into the great unknown. And after days of nothing but excruciating pain, he wanted to die again. It would mean an end to this, and peace. Finally, _finally_ peace. 

But every time he was ready to give in for good, Lex Luthor pulled him back with a controlled zap to the brain. 

Kon gave up on the pain ever ending. 

But just when he thought it would go on like this forever, something changed. 

There was a crash, and then a flash of light. And then, two hands on his face. 

“He’s alive,” someone shouted--right in his ear. 

Kon groaned in pain. Not as much from the shout as from everything else. But the shout didn’t help, either. Not when his world had been so quiet and controlled and pained for so long.

“Kon. Kon-El,” the person shouted, and Kon finally opened his eyes to see a blurry Tim in front of him. “Can you hear me?” 

Kon swallowed thickly. His mouth had been too dry to talk for days. He couldn’t form a word if he tried. 

“Blink twice if you can hear me.” 

Kon blinked. Then blinked again. He forced his eyes to stay open for a little longer, then he glanced down at the curtain separating his head from the rest of his body. He kept his eyes trained on the curtain--anything to tell Tim, tell his team, that he was injured. Trying to ask them what had been done to him, because he couldn’t see. 

But the more he strained, the more Tim coaxed his head up. “You’re injured,” he said, as if to answer him. “We’re getting you out of here and we are going to fix you up. I promise, Kon. Whatever he did to you, we’re going to undo it.” 

“What did Luthor do to-- Oh, _gods_.” 

Kon heard the sound of Cassie’s voice a little beyond Tim. But then there was the sound of retching. 

He swallowed, desperate to wet his mouth. Desperate to ask anything. To ask what Luthor had done to him--why Cassie had thrown up at the mere sight of him. To ask how long he’d been here. To ask if they were okay, how they had found him, why it had taken so long. 

But before he could ask anything, Tim put a finger on his lips and looked deep into his eyes. “I know. I know you have questions,” Tim said, pain in his eyes. “I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through, what you’re still feeling right now. But it’s going to be over soon. And I’m going to put you to sleep until this is over.” 

Kon felt the familiar pressure of Tim’s lips on his. There was a slight prick in his neck. Then, nothing.

\--

When Kon opened his eyes, he was once again in a laboratory.

For one horrifying second, he thought he was back in Lex’s lab. That the rescue had never happened, and that he was still restrained and powerless to stop the torture covering his entire body. Powerless, and ignorant of what was actually happening to him. 

Kon swallowed thickly, expecting a dry throat and numb lips. 

But for the first time in days, his mouth wasn’t too dry to swallow. That sensation, more than anything else, surprised him. 

Then he looked down, and found that his body was fine. 

Impeccable. 

Not a sign of torture at all, aside from a few pink lines down his torso, and arms and legs. 

Kon could have sworn that he had seen blood--gallons, and gallons of blood--on the surgeons that had assisted Luthor. Entire organs, cut out and removed--still twitching. Swore that once, he had seen his own hand leaving with the surgeons. 

But that must have been crazy. A fever-dream, brought on by days of torture. It couldn’t have been real. 

Kon wanted to stretch out--so badly it ached. He’d been restrained for days, but it felt like weeks. Maybe even months. All he wanted to do was stand up and move. 

But when he went to move his arms, nothing happened. 

He looked down to check how strong his restraints were, but this time, he didn’t see anything. He tried again--stronger this time. When that didn’t work, he tried to thrash his arms--but while his shoulders thrashed, his muscles below the bicep didn’t so much as _twitch_. 

Something cold settled in his chest. 

Kon swallowed thickly--and felt bile rise up in his throat. 

The heart-rate monitor next to him picked up the pace. It took Kon a moment to recognize it as its own. 

“Kon?” 

Kon looked up at the sound of his name, heart hammering in his throat. “What did he do to me?” 

“Kon, it’s me. It’s Tim.” Tim moved in front of him, both hands cupping his cheeks. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Breathe. Just breathe for me. I’ll explain once you feel calmer. I promise. I just need you to calm down.” 

_“WHAT DID HE DO TO ME?”_

Tim leaned in closer until his forehead was pressed against Kon’s. “I need you to calm down, Kon. It’s going to be okay.” 

A tear slipped down his cheek, and suddenly he knew exactly what Tim was going to tell him. “Luthor took it,” he managed, voice raw from grief as much as disuse. “He took _everything_ , didn’t he?”

He could see the hesitation in Tim’s eyes. But finally he nodded. “I did what I could to repair the damage,” Tim said. “But the nerve damage was too severe. There isn’t a way to connect new limbs to the peripheral nervous system. So they’re attached, and the blood-flow is fine--everything works as it should.” 

“I can’t move _my fucking arms!_ ” 

“You can’t _yet_ ,” Tim said. “But I promise, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” 

Kon wanted to reach up and wipe his eyes, to get rid of the tears streaming down his face and sticking against Tim’s hands. But the only hand to wipe away his tears was Tim’s. 

\--

It took a full week of rest and recovery for Kon to sit up on his own. After plenty of sunlight, his TTK was back, and able to help him sit up and feed himself. It was weak, after being disabled by Luthor, and he’d been out of practice after being unable to use it for a while. But it had come back.

He couldn’t say the same for his limbs.

His teammates still sat with him though. They hadn’t abandoned him or shipped him off to the Fortress of Solitude or to the Kent Farm to be ignored. Instead, they sat with him in rotations, never leaving him alone for longer than a few minutes. Kon had a feeling it was as much for their peace of mind as his own. 

Bart was there sometimes, chattering away about nothing in particular--or everything in particular, to be more accurate. Kon tried not to resent him for his energy. It was sweet, though. He was the best person to ask about what all he’d missed. When he didn’t have the ability to look things up for himself, Bart could search the internet and fifteen books for him. He was probably the best distraction, but he also wore Kon out the fastest. 

Cassie was there more often, as she was quieter, more relaxed company. Kon remembered that she was the one who’d thrown up at the sight of him. He wanted to ask her just how badly he’d been torn apart, sometimes. But maybe it was best if he didn’t know. She talked to him about missions, and she often went to the Kent Farm to check in with Ma and Pa, and she kept him updated on his family and friends. She was also good at helping him with once-simple tasks without making him feel like he was weak for needing help. 

But Tim was there the most often. Even when he was working, he brought his laptop and case notes into Kon’s bedroom. Sometimes Kon wanted to tell him to leave him alone and get some rest and stop pitying him so much. But truth be told, he was just glad he wasn’t alone. Because if he wasn’t alone, then he didn’t have to fear waking up to that lab table again. If someone was with him, Kon didn’t have to fear waking up to find that this was all just a horrifying nightmare to give his mind a break from an even more terrifying reality. 

It was during one of Tim’s visits that Kon worked up the courage to ask him what had happened. He’d chosen not to ask for the first few weeks of his recovery, knowing that the details might make him feel worse. 

But eventually, he had to know. For his own sake. 

“You were missing and held captive for two weeks,” Tim finally told him. “We didn’t know you were missing for the first day, but after that, we searched for you night and day until we finally found a lead.” 

“Two weeks.” Kon glanced up at the ceiling. “I thought it was three days,” he said. “I guess time flies when you’re being mutilated.” 

“You were unconscious for most of it. I’m amazed you woke up at all,” he said. Tim looked down. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find you sooner.” 

“I don’t know if it would’ve made a difference. He did a lot of damage early on, I think. I remember--I remember when he first took me. Said something about our last mission. That’s the last thing I remember clearly. The rest was--” Kon took a sharp breath, blocking out the memory of pain-pain-pain. 

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore, if you need a break.” 

“No. I. I want to know,” Kon said. “What was he trying to do? Do you know?” 

“Your body absorbed some of Luthor’s tech. He … was trying to get it out of you.” 

Kon didn’t say a word. 

Tim was quiet for a while. They sat in silence for what felt like a few minutes. Kon almost fell asleep in the quiet. Then, “I didn’t think you were going to survive.” 

“You told me I would, though.” Kon met his gaze. “When you came to rescue me. You told me I was going to be okay.”

“You remember that?” 

Kon nodded. 

There was another beat of silence. Then, “We’re going to figure this out.” 

“You keep saying that.” Kon looked up the ceiling. Then he relaxed his TTK enough to lean backwards. His neck and spine were technically undamaged--the only reason he was still alive and had any motor control of his torso. But even those muscles were weak, and he had to aid it with his TTK to avoid straining himself. As for the rest of his limbs, there was still no progress. No magical cure that Zatanna could give him. No Bat-tech to fix him. 

It was hard to believe Tim anymore, when he was just as stuck as he had been on Luthor’s dissection table. 

Tim closed his laptop and case files. Then he moved to sit on the edge of Kon’s bed. He rested a hand on Kon’s knee, despite the fact that Kon could no longer feel anything below his upper thigh. His sensation ended right where the perfect, pink scar tissue began. He didn’t think it was a coincidence. 

When he’d first woken up, he’d thought that losing his arms was bad. But his legs were gone, too.

Not _really_ gone--they were still attached, just under the scar tissue. 

But they were useless. Just there for aesthetics. And a little too perfectly matched to his own body to make him comfortable. And if there was blood flow, then these weren’t robotic limbs like Victor Stone’s. Hell, maybe if they were, he would’ve been able to move them already. 

Instead, he was left with something useless but ‘pretty’. 

“How did you get my limbs back from Luthor?” 

Tim snapped his head up. “I--what do you mean?” 

“He spent weeks slicing me up. But where my torso is scarred to hell and back, I only have one or two lines on my legs,” Kon said flatly. “I’m not stupid. How did you get the limbs back, and why are they not as scarred as the rest of me?” 

Tim swallowed audibly. He was quiet for a long time. 

Kon feared the worst. That he’d traded something important for them. That Lex had been cloning him again. That they were from Bizarro, or Clark, or some terrifying stem cell research, or that Lex had been re-growing limbs for him and Tim had stolen them before they were ready. 

“They’re from when you were dead.” 

That made Kon sit up with alarm. “Lex actually killed me?” 

“No. The first time. When you were dead the first time.” Tim still hesitated. Then he squeezed his knee again, but it provided no comfort. “I tried to clone you. I failed--none of them came to life. But I--I couldn’t destroy something that looked so much like you.” 

Kon felt dread sink heavily into his stomach. 

“These are your limbs, according to DNA. Again--they don’t work because nerves can’t repair themselves after being severed. But--they look like yours. And if we ever come up with the technology to--to give you back your motion and repair those nerves, then you’ll have everything you need to move.” 

Tim launched into an explanation--the plans he had, to fix Kon’s nerves. The ways he was hoping the Fortress of Solitude could cure him. 

But all Kon could think about was the phrase _I tried to clone you._

“How many times?” 

“Dozens. Only--only one or two came out as perfect physical. But they weren’t alive, so I kept them frozen, in case I could ever find the technology to bring them to life.” 

Kon let out a slow breath. In, then out. 

Spent a second feeling grief for yet another thing done to his body--bodies?--without his consent. Without even his _knowledge_. 

Spent a second to think about Tim disassembling one of his clones, piece by piece, to give Kon the parts he needed. 

Did his hands shake? 

Did he regret having to destroy something that looked so much like Kon? 

Kon felt another tear slide down his face. But even more than a few weeks ago, _he_ wanted to be the one to wipe away his own tears. 

He willed his hands to move--for them to do what he was asking them to do. To hide his face from Tim’s prying eyes. 

So when he felt a hand on his cheek, he tried to push it away. “Get away from me. I need time to. I-I need time to think.”

“ _Kon_.” Tim sounded strange. Startled, instead of hurt. “I’m not touching you.” 

Kon cracked open one tear-blurred eye to find Tim raising both palms. But there was still one hand on his face. One hand, clumsily patting at his wet eyes. 

The shock made Kon stop everything he was doing, and like a ragdoll, his hand dropped. 

Tim stared at him with wide eyes. 

“Your TTK,” he breathed. “I was hoping it could help you until I found a solution for your nerves, but this--this is so much stronger than I thought it would be.” 

Kon breathed in a single, shuddering breath. He couldn’t move his hand--not again, not on command yet. But if he tried hard enough, he felt his TTK wrapping around his body like a snug, firm blanket. 

And he could sense with his TTK field exactly where his hands were. Even where his legs were. 

He couldn’t _feel_. Couldn’t feel anything with his sense of touch. 

But they were _there_. 

The tears didn’t stop just because he found a way around his mutilation. Too much had been lost. And there were too many bad memories for a single solution to make everything better. But it was a start, and his best chance at getting back to his old life.

\--

It took six weeks for Kon to be able to stand on his own. 

And six more for him to be able to walk.

He didn’t know how long it would take for him to be able to run--but at least flying had come quickly. All the things he was used to doing with his TTK were simple. It was only the new things--the more delicate things, and the tasks that required balance--that were proving more difficult. 

“No one would blame you if you just flew,” Tim said. “I know it’s harder to walk.” 

Kon ignored him and walked on, leaning stubbornly against his cane. It was a device that made his TTK stronger, one that let him feel more grounded and solid when he was walking. But he was hoping for a future where he didn’t need mobility aids at all. That way, he could run. He never thought he’d miss running--especially when flying was so much faster. 

But he also knew that it was a miracle he was alive at all. 

“Kon, I’m serious. You’ve made a lot of progress already. Baby steps,” he said. Then he glanced down at Kon’s feet and added, “Pun not entirely intended.” 

“It was intended and you know it.” Kon gently tapped his cane against Tim’s shins. His hands were doing a little better than his feet, only because there was less balance involved. He couldn’t write yet, and privately, he wasn’t sure if he ever would again. But he had voice to text technology, and honestly, it wasn’t like he used a pencil for much these days. “Just two more laps, and I’m done for the day.”

Tim sighed. He had a lopsided something on his face -- Kon was never sure if it was a smile or a frown. “Stubborn,” he said. But he walked beside him anyways. Not to catch him if he fell, because Kon could fly and hated being caught. But because he wanted to stay with him. 

Two laps later, and Kon was sweating and shaking from the exertion. But he’d managed it. Every step, and he’d managed it. Then, he closed his eyes and finally floated upwards, lying on his back. “I think I’m ready to take a break.” 

Tim crossed his arms on top of Kon’s torso, leaning against him and trusting that Kon wouldn’t sink with the added weight. “Yeah? About time.” 

Kon used his TTK grip on his hands to gently knock against Tim’s shoulder. “Stay with me for a while?” 

Tim leaned up, then gently captured Kon’s lips in a kiss. “Always.” 

\--

When Tim got back to their flat--in Metropolis, purchased and refurbished for Kon’s ease--he found his boyfriend lying on his back on the couch. 

It would’ve been an ordinary sight if not for the ice pack sitting on his forehead. Tim winced in sympathy. “Another migraine?” 

Kon nodded stiffly. He didn’t move anything else--a sure sign that this was a migraine that had knocked out his TTK. Tim leaned on the armrest closest to Kon’s head, then gently ran a hand through his hair. When Kon hummed his appreciation, Tim just smiled down at him. 

“Can I get you anything?” 

“Lex Luthor’s head on a pike,” he said. “But for now, a glass of water and another ice pack.” 

Tim leaned down, then pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s damp forehead. 

A few minutes later found them sitting against each other on the couch, with Kon’s head in Tim’s lap. 

“I typed a little today,” Kon said, just to make conversation. “Felt okay at first.” 

“Think that’s what gave you the migraine?” 

“If it didn’t, it’s definitely the first runner up.” He sighed through his nose. “I think I’ll keep with voice to text. If you need a backup Titan, I don’t want to be incapacitated if I can help it. I need the spoons to be able to fight off a giant robot--not to poke keys for some stupid email.” 

“Can you still use the spoons metaphor for that? You’re literally talking about the energy to punch a giant robot.” 

“I’m sorry, _who_ knows what spoons I have and what I can use them for?” 

“You.” Tim leaned down for a kiss, meeting Kon half-way. “Sorry.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

\--

It took a full year before Kon was back in true fighting shape. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know. Everyone would understand if you retired. I don’t think anyone actually expects you to get back out there.” Tim, matter of fact as ever, reached for Kon’s bicep and squeezed it. The lowest that Kon could feel sensation. He appreciated the gesture, but it was still hard to get used to feeling that instead of a reassuring squeeze against his hand. Even if he was able to fake the gesture for Tim, he missed being able to feel it for himself. 

“I know,” Kon agreed. “I think that’s half of why I’m doing it.” 

Tim sighed. Then he went on his toes and kissed him on the cheek. He’d been more affectionate in the last year--more outward about his love. Kon wondered if he was compensating for something, sometimes. But those were worries and insecurities he’d probably never voice. Not yet, at least. “We’re on your side,” he said. “Always.” 

And underneath, Kon knew what he really meant was, _‘You will never be captured or hurt again. Not on our watch.’_

Then, Tim gently smoothed down the lapels of Kon’s new uniform. “You like it?” Kon asked, seeing Tim’s eyes catch the emblem and the stitched-together patchwork of the suit. Intentional, though it didn’t quite match the actual patchwork scars on his body. That would have been a little too personal for Kon’s liking. 

“I think it’s more important that _you_ like it.” 

“Admit it. You hate it.” 

Tim bit his lip. “It’s just. The costume, and the name. It doesn’t… _bother_ you?” 

“I picked ‘FrankenSuper’ for myself.” Kon managed a terse smile. “It’s going to be thrown at me anyways, if our rogues have half their usual wit. It might as well be my codename instead of a jab.”

It took a moment, but Tim finally nodded. “And the scars. The limbs. They don’t bother you?”

Kon met his gaze. He knew what Tim was really asking. Knew that, even after a year, there were certain things they’d chosen not to discuss. Because it did complicate things. Tim had cloned him without consent when he was dead, and then chosen an incredibly invasive surgery to save his life. 

“I don’t like that you cloned me without permission and then never told me,” he finally said. Because it needed said. “But they’re a part of me now. And I know what it feels like to get low and lose everything.” 

“I’m sorry I never told you.” 

“It’ll be okay. This is as close to normal as I’m going to feel anyways. I’m still not going to thank you, because it _was_ a violation. But I forgive you.” He paused, then used his TTK to guide his hands to Tim’s face. He couldn’t feel it with his hands--not for real. Not the warmth of it. But he could at least guide his thumb gently across Tim’s cheek for his boyfriend’s sake. “We can move on.” 

It was going to be a work in progress. They both knew it. But Tim must have accepted it, because he gently patted Kon’s upper arms and leaned up to kiss him, deep and slow. “Welcome back to the team,” he finally said. “Let’s kick some ass, Kon.”


End file.
